


Operation Special Training

by RembrandtsWife



Series: Code Name Fanfic [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Het, Not What It Looks Like, Office Sex, Power Dynamics, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve thought she would make the first move, but the new M beat her to it. Fortunately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Special Training

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on the back burner for almost a month; I dreamt of Daniel Craig last night and woke up ready to fix the last little problems. Much thanks to nookienostradamus for beta and cheerleading.

It was Monday morning and Eve Moneypenny was at her desk in MI6 headquarters, but her mind was still occupied with last Friday night, unfortunately. It had been a "Movie Night", dinner and sex with Q and Bond, held at Bond's flat, for a change. Bond's flat was simultaneously luxurious and impersonal, like a suite at a five-star hotel, but he had a splendid large-screen telly and a king-sized bed with a beautifully firm mattress. They had ordered enormous quantities of sushi, fried rice, Thai appetizers from an Asian fusion place, watched the "Midnight" episode of Doctor Who, and then romped on the king-sized bed for most of the night.

Bond had hosted them and paid for more than his share of the food, but Eve had brought other supplies: a shoulderbag that looked fetching and carried not only her keys, phone, and wallet/purse, but their favorite lube, two vibrators, one phallic and one a small yellow bullet, and the strap-on with harness that she knew Q liked.

The strap-on had amused Bond very much, and his amusement had amused her and somewhat offended Q. The upshot was that she and Bond had both tackled Q, who wound up between them, sucking James's magnificent cock while Eve rode his pretty arse with the strap-on.

"MIss Moneypenny!"

Eve's brain leaped instantly from the warm bath of her fantasy to the cold dry pinnacle of high alert. Instead of straightening up and looking attentive, her body curled into a defensive crouch, her hand moving toward the weapon she no longer carried.

"Daydreaming, Miss Moneypenny?" Disapproval, disappointment, disdain in that quiet, noncommittal voice. If he ever shouted, he would surely kill someone.

"So sorry, sir. What do you need?"

"My office, now." He turned with military precision and marched away. 

Eve allowed herself a moment to panic. She'd been planning this seduction for weeks, every outfit, every look calculated to attract, every "Yes, sir" laden with innuendo, and now Mallory had caught her off guard, while she was thinking of her lovers. Damn.

By the time she drew up at his desk, Mallory was already seated, hands folded before him. Bond's ice-blue eyes were assessing, calculating; Q's moss-green gaze wrapped around you like a blanket. Mallory's eyes were grey and penetrating; they saw into her, scanned every organ, read every thought.

"You were daydreaming out there."

"Yes, sir."

"Thinking of something other than your job." 

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Good thing you're no longer in the field, then." His voice sharpened, pressed against her throat. "We can't have you going slack, Miss Moneypenny. Do you want people to think you were a loss in the field and behind a desk as well?

That stung, and she was ready to defend herself, but he was getting up and coming round the desk, to stand at her left shoulder. His breath tickled her ear.

"I think perhaps some--special training is called for."

Mallory paused. Eve turned her head and looked in the face; he was no taller than she was, thanks to her heels. Up close his eyes had flecks of blue and green, but they were no less probing. 

"Special training, sir?"

She felt the lightest touch to her hand. His fingertips glided across her palm, up to her wrist, and just under the edge of her sleeve. "Training which I, personally, would supervise."

Her heart tried to impersonate a hummingbird's, but Eve was still in control of herself. This had to be done very carefully, very consciously. This was an old dance and she had to prove   
she knew the moves.

"What sort of training would you suggest, sir?"

He took his hand away but leaned in a little closer, his breath hot on her cheek. "For a start, Miss Moneypenny, I'd suggest you bend over my desk."

She moved slowly and deliberately, calling on long-ago dance training. First she placed her hands on his desk, on the dark polished wood and not the blotter, a little more than shoulder-width apart. Then she leaned forward with a curl of the spine that lifted both breasts and buttocks for inspection, keeping her legs straight and setting her feet just a bit more than hip-width apart. Her skirt rode up no more than an inch with her change of posture, but when she dropped her head, slowly, the sudden baring of her neck as her locks swung forward made her almost shudder.

Mallory shifted to stand behind Eve. She inhaled a sharp whiff of whatever delicious scent he wore, aftershave or cologne, something she always noticed about him. Even when he was being shot at, when Silva was trying get Mrs. Mansfield, he still smelled good under the stink of sweat and blood. Even Bond didn't smell as good as Mallory.

Two fingers slipped under the hem of her skirt and found her bare thigh above the cuff of the stocking. They trailed upward and found the thin strap that crossed her hip. "Garter belt, Miss Moneypenny? Rather old-fashioned, aren't they?"

She considered before answering. "Sometimes old-fashioned is best, sir." She'd been wearing the garter belt almost every day.

He made a soft hum that might have been approving or not, but he didn't take his hand away. His fingers traced the supporting strap up to the narrow belt, glided more firmly down over the curve of her bum. She shivered; he paused. Then the fine wool of his trousers brushed her inner thigh in a way that made her step and reset her feet, further apart now. Another hum, almost certainly approving, and his whole hand closed on her buttock and squeezed.

Eve let out the little squeak that rose in her throat. M made a soft dry noise that was most likely a chuckle. His hand was between her legs now, one finger brushing over the deepest spot. She'd ditched her thong during lunch. "Why, I believe you're wet, Miss Moneypenny. You do want this, don't you?"

She was wet--not just from the memory of Friday night, but from the thrill of this game, the intoxication of his cologne, the skill and the power behind the very minimal touches he'd given her. Better to say nothing, she thought, only arch her back a little more and raise her head, longingly.

M's finger stroked over her crisp curls, petting, combing, brushing over her clit but not trying to open her up yet. "I think I'd like to see your breasts, Miss Moneypenny." His voice was quieter and deeper than usual.

She'd chosen her bra with just this in mind; it took just a quick tug to pull down both neckline and cups, exposing her nipples. They were already so tight they nearly hurt.

His chin brushed her shoulder. "Oh, lovely." He touched one nipple, then the other, with one finger, just one finger, his skin so pale against hers. She wanted him to pinch her nipples and pinch them hard. She wanted his arms to wrap around her and restrain her. She bit her lip and waited. 

Just one finger slid between her pussy lips and into her slick core. She couldn't suppress the shudder that went through her; she had come so close, so close to orgasm. Oh, he was good. He made Bond look like an amateur.

"What a naughty girl." His tone was soft, bemused, with just a hint of playful. "Parading around in front of the boss in a garter belt and no knickers, getting wet, perhaps even touching her pussy at her desk as she thinks about seducing her boss in his office….".

His finger worked its way deeper inside her. Eve took her cue and touched herself, finding her clit and moaning as she pressed the hard flesh. Then M's fingers were following hers, rubbing and pinching, and the pressure was gathering inside her. What was the next move in this dance?

Mallory breathed on the back of her neck. "Come for me, you naughty little slut."

And she did, moaning. She came hard and it was good, but it hurt, because her cunt was squeezing on nothing but itself, grasping desperately for a cock that wasn't there. Oh God, please, wasn't he going to fuck her?

She felt the condom on him and realized she hadn't heard him open it. Sticky tip of the condom, caress of that fine woolen weave on her buttocks, and she let her head and shoulders sink to the desk and let his cock sink in, oh thank God. He wasn't as big as Bond, but he came in slow and touched every place in her that needed to be touched. She sobbed with relief. Invitation accepted, and her pussy was so full, she wanted to open up more and get more, wanted to roll over and show him her belly and let him fuck her any way he wanted.

"Can you lift your leg, Miss Moneypenny? Like this?" His hand ran under her left thigh, bringing her leg to hip height. She had to rest her foot on the desk--her foot still in the four-inch strappy red shoes--and realized it must look like a porno, but she was limber enough not to mind the stretch and she was growling luxuriously as Mallory pushed deeper. He made a little grunt of satisfaction, running his hands freely over her hips, buttocks, thighs. 

"Very good, Miss Moneypenny. Very good indeed."

His hands closed on her waist, and he began fucking her in earnest, with long sure strokes that had her whimpering and shaking in his grasp.

"Don't touch yourself," he snapped, when she let go of the desk and drew one hand under her belly. "Squeeze me. I want to feel your cunt squeezing my prick."

Sobbing, Eve did so, catching him now on the thrust, now on the withdrawal, until their rhythms synched and she was seizing him every time he pushed in.

"Good girl," he grunted. He was almost holding her off the floor now, her weight on her own hands and on his. "Going to come soon like this, yes, come in your tight little--"

Mallory's groan was sudden, deep, and guttural. Eve moaned in sympathy, letting herself drop to the desk, and came again with a squeal of shock as he rubbed hard on her clit one last time before withdrawing.

She felt utterly boneless in the way that only really good sex could make her, as if she couldn't support herself without leaning on the desk. But M was smoothing her garter belt into place, tugging down her dress. She forced her weight back onto her feet, straightened up, and accepted the handkerchief he was offering her.

M turned away, tidying his own appearance as she wiped the slickness from her crotch. He sat down again, pointed her to a chair, and folded his hands again.

"I want you to resume marksmanship practice." His tone was all cool but friendly boss again, as if they had not just fucked in his office. "And we'll go over your CV together, see if there's anything you've missed by way of coursework. One needs to know more about economics than one used to, and about computers, of course. Perhaps our Quartermaster could help you with that." There was a tiny quaver in his voice that might have been a knowing laugh. "You might occasionally go back to the field for selected assignments. And, if you like, we could pursue our… special training sessions further."

He leaned back in his chair, not quite smiling. Eve allowed herself a very small smile. He'd made the first move and caught her off guard, but they were playing the same game--the game that they both knew would end up with her in M's chair one day.

"Further training with you would be my pleasure, sir."


End file.
